


The Accidental Cupid

by touchinghearts



Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children (2016)
Genre: Gen mostly, Horace-Centric, Humour, M/M, OOC, Romance, there is no mention of christmas i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:24:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9029453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/touchinghearts/pseuds/touchinghearts
Summary: In which Horace had only been using his peculiarity to keep the peace, really. Movie-based.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [propheticasomnium](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=propheticasomnium).



> For the lovely [ propheticasomnium @ tumblr](propheticasomnium.tumblr.com), in lieu of [Peculiar Secret Santa 2016](http://library-of-peculiars.tumblr.com/).

 

♦

 

~¤ •Ж• ¤~

 

 

For all that it’s not as dangerous or as striking as the peculiarities of the people he lives with, Horace has never found his own peculiarity lesser for it. He has his uses. Every Peculiar nest requires a Seer-type peculiarity in its loop and Alma Peregrine, one of the most famous Ymbryne’s of them all, had specifically chosen _him_. Horace knows what that means.

 

Of course, once their old loop is destroyed and the fiasco of Barron and the Hollows is done with, Horace spends a long time resenting himself for how useless his peculiarity had turned out to be.

 

“I couldn’t do anything,” he muses in the bowels of the ship they’d raised from the ocean floor. “I couldn’t even distract him for any length of time.”

 

“The important thing is that you’ve won,” Miss Peregrine says, her voice soft. She’s tucked into the bed beside his, a blanket thrown over her legs and piles of pillows supporting her back and shoulders. She had waved both Emma and Olive away when they had tried to examine her injury.

 

“We could have won even without me,” Horace tells her, morose. “All I managed to do was shine a light at Barron and he laughed.”

 

“If you ask Jake, he’d tell you that everyone had their role to play. Horace, my boy, there’s no doubt in my mind that none of us would be here now had each and every one of you not been there to help.”

 

He looks up at her. She regards him with her steady eyes and the familiar quirk of a smile.

 

“We all have our strengths and weaknesses, Horace,” she says kindly. “If not, we wouldn’t have met Jake, would we? We can be useful in our own ways, in our own time.”

 

Horace sighs. It isn’t as comforting as it should be but he sees the sense in her words. “I know,” he says. “I just wish I’d been useful _that_ time.”

 

“Buck up,” Miss Peregrine says cheerfully. “We have new beginnings ahead of us all. I’ve a new loop to create, and you a new life to get used to. Let’s not start it with laments when the ordeal is over and we’ve come out the better for it.”

 

♦

 

A new loop, a new life.

 

Horace tries to take the words to heart.

 

Miss Peregrine leads them to a village near Cardiff, where she apparently has a place ready for them to move into right away. The house isn’t quite as large as the one in Cairnholm but it’s just as lovely and not as isolated.

 

“I think we’re due for a little change,” she tells them all. “It’s a charming area and I’m sure you’ll enjoy the market once we’ve had the chance to do some shopping.”

 

Horace chooses a room that overlooks the village down the hill and spends a good ten minutes pondering on whether it has a tailor’s shop. He glances over just in time to see Enoch beyond the doorway, exiting his own newly-picked bedroom across from Horace’s.

 

“Why am I not surprised you chose that side of the house?” Enoch says, rolling his eyes even as he comes to where Horace is standing by the window.

 

“I could say the same of you,” Horace retorts, because really. He’s not surprised at all that Enoch’s chosen a room facing the expansive back gardens and the open sky past the cliff edge. In other words, away from the village.

 

“They’re like ants,” Enoch says, squinting at the window panes. “Let me guess, you were salivating at the idea of a new tailor’s shop to visit.”

 

Horace shoves him and laughs when Olive calls for them before Enoch gets to shove back.

 

The first night of the new loop, Horace dreams of sunken ships, terrifying shapes brought to life in snow, and finally of a can of pins in the tailor shop at the village.

 

♦

 

It takes a while before any of them settle into the new accommodations and a new routine. Jake, an American lad from a future of convenience and modern technology, has the most difficulty in adjusting but certainly no shortage of people eager to help him. Horace is charmed by how enthusiastically Fiona, Hugh and Bronwyn apply themselves to the cause, and even Enoch doesn’t make fun of them for it. Of course, Enoch most of all wouldn’t dare jeopardise what amounts to a coping strategy for Bronwyn.

 

Horace is just relieved that Bronwyn is smiling more now. After his death they’d all been reluctant to talk about Victor; now that his body is probably long gone in the ruins of their old home, no one’s got the stomach to bring it up. Miss Peregrine hasn’t spoken a word beyond their first evening in this new place, when she had led Bronwyn into the library and they all pretended not to hear a little girl crying.

 

The day loops again and again and Horace’s resentment of his peculiarity fades though he occasionally continues to regret. He keeps an eye on the smaller children when they play near the back garden wall, visits the tailor’s shop every day to catch a can of pins before it tips over, and every other night he dreams of the future or new clothes.

 

One night, he dreams of Emma and her silent tears, of Jake’s bowed head, of their fingers slipping away from each other as Jake sets down a photograph of Abe.

 

Two loop-resets after that, Horace promises Fiona his pudding if she gets Emma out of the house for the day. For lack of any other viable options, he decides to send Enoch after Jake.

 

“Have you gone heart hunting yet?” he asks Enoch when he finds him in his ‘workshop’.

 

Enoch narrows his eyes at him over the truly horrific puppet he’s been constructing. Horace thinks of him as a brother but he’s too scared to tell Enoch that he’s certainly no artist.

 

“Why,” says Enoch suspiciously, “d’you want to come?”

 

“Heavens, no. I’m not letting you ruin my nice pants again.”

 

Enoch snorts. “Yes, _I’m_ the one who made that particular stain at that exact spot.”

 

Horace lifts his chin and resolutely does not respond. “I notice you haven’t replenished your store of hearts yet.”

 

“Miss Peregrine said I could, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ve just been busy with this one.”

 

Horace doesn’t look at the puppet Enoch’s brandishing. “You shouldn’t go out alone.”

 

“Olive will come with me, she always does.”

 

“Olive’s gone out with Emma, Millard, and Fiona.”

 

Enoch goes back to hunching over his…thing. “We can go tomorrow or something,” he says dismissively.

 

“I was just thinking,” says Horace. “You’ve forced most of us to go with you heart hunting one time or another.”

 

“Your point?”

 

“I did say most.”

 

Enoch frowns at him and then his eyebrows go up. “You think I should get Jake to come?” he says.

 

“It wouldn’t be fair otherwise,” Horace says reasonably. “The rest of us had to suffer through it.”

 

“ _Suffer_?”

 

“And Jake’s from America, too. I’m sure he’s got some practice with finding some carcasses and maybe catching some of the trickier ones.”

 

Enoch thinks about it, his eyes narrowing again. Then a grin spreads across his face; it’s an evil, evil look.

 

“You’re right, it wouldn’t be fair,” he says gleefully.

 

Horace claps his shoulder. He doesn’t worry about getting Jake to participate. Enoch’s a bulldozer when it comes to that particular hobby of his.

 

Jake is notably green when he gets back and Emma’s hair is windswept and even though they don’t talk at dinner, they both look far more relaxed than they had at breakfast. Horace contents himself with that and tells everyone there isn’t going to be a movie night this evening.

 

He’s not even insulted when nobody complains.

 

♦

 

“I feel like I should have asked this at the start,” says Horace, “but why are we doing this?”

 

From the other side of the dollhouse, Fiona rolls her eyes. “Because Claire wants a dollhouse,” she says.

 

“Because it’s fun,” says Millard.

 

“Millard,” Horace says. “What’s happened to your pants.”

 

“It’s not my fault you decided to do this out in the garden at 3 o’clock in the afternoon.”

 

Claire crawls from around a corner of the dollhouse and hands Horace some tiny pieces of fabric with polka dots.

 

“Windows need curtains,” she says solemnly.

 

“Indeed they do,” Horace agrees and reaches, very stiffly, into the dollhouse to ensure the windows get curtains.

 

Olive smiles at him. “You’re not going to break anything, Horace,” she says with a laugh. “If you knock anything over, we’ll just right them.”

 

“Except the sitting room,” Millard says. “I’ve put the tea set in there.”

 

“Excellent choice,” Miss Peregrine declares as she strides up to them. “And perfect timing as well. How about you finish that up after tea. We have scones and you’ll be interested to hear that Jake’s baked them.”

 

Horace scrambles to his feet at the same time Olive gasps.

 

“Jake made scones?” she says, delighted.

 

“Jake made scones?” Millard echoes, with considerably more doubt.

 

“They’re lovely,” Miss Peregrine assures him. “Now, are you going to explain to me why you aren’t wearing clothes outside?”

 

“Uh,” says Millard.

 

“I’m waitin—Horace, don’t run, there’ll be plenty of scones for everyone.”

 

“Sorry, Miss Peregrine, I just need to get inside!” Horace calls back.

 

Just as last night’s dream had promised, he finds Jake and Enoch practically nose to nose in the sitting room, the former bristling and the latter his usual bratty self.

 

“It’s cute, Jake, really,” Enoch jeers. “I mean, baking really suits you.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with baking!” Jake says, and he’s almost shouting so that means it’s really bad.

 

The dream had ended at that moment and Horace isn’t interested to find out how the fight is going to evolve so he grabs a warm scone from the batch on the table and strides forward.

 

Enoch opens his mouth to make fun of Jake again and finds it abruptly full of scone.

 

“Urk!” he says, hands flying up to prevent spillage.

 

Jake stares.  

 

“Well, that’s one way to shut him up,” says Emma from the other doorway.

 

Horace beams at her, inordinately pleased with himself. He easily dodges when Enoch tries to swipe him with one hand while the other cradles half a broken scone. He makes an angry noise around the other half he’s still chewing.

 

“You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,” Jake tells him.

 

Horace honestly can’t tell if Jake is mocking Enoch or sincerely advising him.

 

“Considering he was making fun of your baking, he’s lucky he gets one at all,” Emma says as she comes towards them. “But good job, Horace.”

 

“It was the first thing I could think of,” Horace admits.

 

“You’re good on your feet.”

 

Jake is grinning now as Enoch glowers and they all notice when Enoch makes a noise that’s decidedly not grumpy. He swallows visibly and looks down at the half of scone in his hand.

 

“This is actually good,” he says, actually sounding gobsmacked.

 

Emma snorts inelegantly. Horace tries one and discovers that Jake deserves to look every inch as smug as he does at that moment.

 

♦

 

“So, this dollhouse,” says Hugh.

 

“Claire wanted to build one,” Horace supplies.

 

“And why did I get dragged in?”

 

“Because we’re a family,” says Olive primly. “Families do things together.”

 

Hugh gives her an unimpressed look. “You just want someone to share the misery with,” he accuses.

 

Horace turns to Olive in surprise and although she continues to arrange the tiny furniture, he sees that she’s smiling.

 

“I wouldn’t do such a thing,” she says.

 

Fiona scoffs. “Sure you wouldn’t,” she says, grinning. “Hand me the screwdriver, won’t you, Millard?”

 

Horace watches with a great deal of resignation as a screwdriver float through to the air to her hand.

 

“Millard,” Jake says.

 

“It’s hot!”

 

“That doesn’t mean you get to waltz around naked,” Enoch growls. “Go put some clothes on, for heaven’s sake. We’re outside!”

 

“You’re not the boss of me!”

 

“Did you teach him that?” Emma asks Jake.

 

“What, to come outside without clothes? No!”

 

“She meant the phrase, idiot,” Enoch says.

 

“You don’t get to call Jake an idiot when I saw you eat three of his scones all by yourself,” Fiona says.

 

“Oh, I thought I saw him take a fourth one,” says Olive. “Did you hide the last one for later, Enoch?”

 

Enoch sputters as everyone else giggles. Horace notices the way Jake grins, good-natured and a little awkward like he still isn’t used to all this. Emma is seated on the grass beside him, her own smile bright and her shoulders relaxed. Horace is glad to see that they’ve learned to get along again, no longer carefully maintaining a distance, no longer darting their eyes away from the other’s gaze.

 

He thinks Emma looks a lot better than she has in a long, long time. Maybe it’s the tangible end of whatever it is she’d had with Jake, compared to the nothingness that had been what she had with Abe. Maybe it’s ‘closure’, as one of his books calls it. He doesn’t know, really, he’s just happy to see that Emma no longer has that distant look in her eyes.

 

“Why is one wall missing?” Hugh asks.

 

“I’m starting to realise you’ve never seen a dollhouse before, have you?”

 

♦

 

Horace gets more visions of Jake and Enoch fighting, and he learns that letting them go on unhindered is unilaterally worse than putting a stop to it.

 

“I don’t see why _I_ have to do it,” he grumbles.

 

The twins chitter at him.

 

“I miss the good old days when my dreams were mostly you two digging up bugs from all over the garden, or Millard getting caught in the pantry without his clothes again.”

 

They tilt their heads, in exactly the same direction, and hiss at him in sync. It never fails to be eerie but he pats them absently.

 

“Maybe today you can distract them,” he says, hopeful.

 

They don’t say anything or nod, so he takes it as agreement and tells them the when and where. He’s sure they’ll come up with something to stop the Fight of the Day.

 

“Um, Miss Peregrine,” says Jake an hour later.

 

Horace looks up from his book.

 

“Yes, Jake?” Miss Peregrine says, a few feet away.

 

“I don’t know how to tell you this, it’s…well, I guess he deserves it but I’m not sure if I should just leave it alone considering…”

 

Horace sits up in interest.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Okay, so, I think something’s wrong with the twins?”

 

The expression that comes forth on Miss Peregrine’s face is just a few degrees short of terrifying.

 

“How so?” she says.

 

Jake scratches the back of his head. “They’ve trapped Enoch in the pantry,” he reveals. “We were arguing, just a little, you know, the usual. Then the twins came in and they sort of backed him up into the pantry and shut the door. They, uh, aren’t letting me near. They didn’t say anything? But Enoch says he isn’t opening the door until they move, and they aren’t moving.”

 

Miss Peregrine’s eyebrows have been rising with each word Jake spouts and Horace thinks this is the most surprised he’s ever seen her. He isn’t sure he wants to add to it by telling her he’s the reason behind all this.

 

“I can’t possibly imagine what’s gotten into them,” says Miss Peregrine, and sets her book down on the iron table. “Let’s go, then.”

 

Horace follows without a word.

 

“Enoch?” Jake calls, when they reach the kitchen.

 

“I’m still in here, Jake,” Enoch’s voice answers from the pantry. He sounds cranky, which is generally his default personality. “Did you bring help?”

 

The twins are stationed in front of the pantry doors. Although they wear masks and aren’t making a sound, Horace somehow gets the impression that they’re immensely pleased with themselves.

 

“Now then,” says Miss Peregrine, striding right up to them. “What’s all this about you two trapping Enoch in there?”

 

“They didn’t trap me in here!”

 

Miss Peregrine soundly ignores him and places her hands on her hips. “Children?” she prods.

 

They start making crooning, reptilian noises at her and she nods, humming at odd intervals.

 

“She can understand them?” Jake whispers to Horace.

 

“It seems so,” Horace says with a shrug.

 

“Yes,” Miss Peregrine says. “Oh, I see. Enoch?”

 

“Yes, Miss Peregrine?”

 

“The twins tell me you were fighting with Jake again. You insulted his grandfather?”

 

There’s a long silence. Jake shifts uncomfortably.

 

“It’s not really that big of a deal,” he mutters. “I overreacted, I guess.”

 

Miss Peregrine gives him a sharp look.

 

“The twins won’t allow you to come out, Enoch,” she says. “Not until you apologise to Jake.”

 

“What?” Enoch squawks.

 

“It’s quite simple, really. You apologise for insulting Abe, and the twins won’t turn you into stone.”

 

“Uh,” says Jake.

 

“Miss Peregrine!”

 

“Enoch,” she says severely.

 

There is a very loud huff and then a few seconds tick by in absolute silence. Jake looks distinctly uncomfortable. Horace pats his shoulder, uncertain of how else to ease him. Then they hear a groan.

 

“Jake?” Enoch calls out, sounding remarkably reluctant.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Um, apology accepted.”

 

Miss Peregrine raises an eyebrow at him but the exchange appears to satisfy the twins and they both knock on the pantry doors excitedly. Enoch opens them and gamely catches the twins when they throw themselves at his legs.

 

“You two are a menace,” he says, scowling.

 

The noises they make in response are decidedly unapologetic. Enoch rolls his eyes and guide them out into the kitchen, towards Miss Peregrine.

 

“You can do better,” she tells him. “You should do better.”

 

Enoch’s eyes drift towards Jake. “Later,” he says.

 

Horace is as surprised as Jake looks.

 

The pantry door creaks. For a moment no one speaks.

 

“Millard,” says Miss Peregrine, her voice deceptively calm. “Are you sneaking into the pantry without clothes again?”

 

Horace decides dealing with the Fight of the Day is better than that.

 

♦

 

Horace dreams of Bronwyn drifting through the silent halls at night, her cheeks tearstained, stopping only when she reaches Victor’s room. There is light under the door, and the shadow of a silhouette as if someone is standing on the other side. She never goes in.

 

It’s just a dream.

 

He wants to talk to her but he never has the right words for things like that. He doesn’t think anyone does.

 

♦

 

“If Miss Peregrine knew you were up this late, she wouldn’t be happy,” Enoch says as he hops onto the counter.

 

“Which is how I know you’re not going to tell her,” says Jake, “since you’re here, too.”

 

Enoch gives a derisive snort and leans over to see what’s in Jake’s mug. “Where did you get hot chocolate?”

 

“I found a jug of it in the icebox. I’m not sure who made it.”

 

Enoch takes it from him and drinks. “This isn’t our usual hot chocolate,” he says in surprise.

 

“It has mint in it.”

 

“It’s not bad.”

 

Jake accepts the mug back and returns to sipping.

 

“So what has the dashing hero up at midnight?” Enoch says, because he’s never been one to leave well enough alone.

 

Jake looks down into his chocolate. “No particular reason,” he says quietly.

 

“D’you really expect me to believe that?”

 

Jake shrugs. “Does it matter?”

 

Enoch gives an aggravated sigh. He reaches for the mug again and Jake gives it up with as little fuss as before.

 

“Claire woke me up,” he says in between two sips.

 

Jake looks over at him. “Is she okay?”

 

“She had a nightmare, is all. She always sneaks into my room when that happens. I couldn’t get back to sleep after I tucked her in.”

 

“It happens a lot? Claire having nightmares, I mean.”

 

“Not really. She does pretty well on her own, but after Victor died…well, most of us had nightmares about that. Our most recent adventure doesn’t exactly inspire fairy tales dreams, either.”

 

Jake makes a noise, something of a cross between a laugh and a scoff. “Yeah,” he says, looking at nothing in particular. “I guess you’re not wrong there.”

 

Enoch regards him for a moment and then hops off the counter. He wanders over to the pot on the stove where he can smell the chocolate Jake had heated up and ladles more into Jake’s mug.

 

“So, was your reason a nightmare, too?” he asks casually.

 

“No,” says Jake. “I…it’s not a nightmare. I couldn’t really sleep, that’s all.”

 

Enoch walks over and presents him with the refilled mug. Jake blinks at it before accepting, a little cautiously. Enoch doesn’t get back on the counter, choosing instead to lean against it as he looks up at Jake.

 

“You gonna tell me why?” he says.

 

Jake hesitates. “It’s not really a big deal,” he evades.

 

“You’re down here in the middle of the night drinking mysterious hot chocolate. It’s something.”

 

“I was just thinking.”

 

“About?”

 

Jake sighs. “About my family.”

 

“Your family,” Enoch echoes flatly.

 

“It’s been a year,” Jake says. “Since…since I last saw my mom. In a few days, it’ll be a year since I last saw my dad. That’s all.”

 

Enoch is quiet for a while. “I’m sorry,” he says.

 

Jake looks at him in surprise.

 

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m not a total jerk.”

 

“Could’ve fooled me.”

 

“We sorted out our differences and I apologised.”

 

“You made fun of my t-shirt this afternoon.”

 

“I did it with love.”

 

Jake laughs. He hands over his mug and Enoch accepts it. There’s a strange camaraderie between them right now and neither seem willing to break it.

 

“I really am sorry,” Enoch says.

 

“Don’t be. It’s not actually bad or anything. I’m not miserable here. I made the choice to come with you guys and it was still the best choice.”

 

“I’d wondered.”

 

“What?”

 

“Well, you know.” Enoch gestures with the mug. “Since you and Emma aren’t…you know.”

 

Jake looks down at him with a quirk at the corner of his lips. “That was three months ago. You’ve been wondering since then?”

 

“It’s not like I could come out and ask, could I?” Enoch grumbles.

 

Jake grins. “Well, yeah, I chose to come join you guys because of Emma. But I’ve got other reasons to stay now.”

 

“You didn’t have any reason to stay back in your time?”

 

The levity in Jake’s face fades. “Not really, no,” he says.

 

Enoch quickly hands him back his chocolate. “Sorry,” he says.

 

That has Jake cracking a wry grin. “You’ve said that three times. Are you sure you’re okay?”

 

“Shut up. I’m trying to be nice.”

 

“I appreciate it,” Jake says, and it’s heartbreakingly sincere.

 

Enoch hesitates and then pats Jake’s knee. “Anytime,” he says quietly.

 

Jake smiles at him. “You—”

 

♦

 

When Horace wakes up, he can’t decide if it’s a good thing that the dream ends there.

 

He overhears Enoch mocking Jake’s shirt after lunch, laughter softening what once would have been stinging words. Before bed, he decides hot chocolate with mint sounds nice so he makes a little too much and places a jug of it into the icebox.

 

He takes the cups he’s initially poured chocolate into and brings them to Bronwyn. She has her own room unlike the other small children because she used to share with her brother and didn’t want to share with anyone else after. Her door is open and he finds her sitting at the windowsill, gazing out at the dark horizon of the sea beyond the cliff their home perches on. He taps one cup against the door and she looks up.

 

“What’s that?” she says, gaze on the cups.

 

“Something that might help you and I sleep better,” he says, because he may not know the right words but telling the truth is not that difficult.

 

The weary but genuine smile she gifts him with is worth the odd dream he’d had of Enoch and Jake.

 

What was that even about anyway?

 

♦

 

“Oh dear,” Horace says faintly.

 

Enoch and Jake spring apart and rapidly back away from each other.

 

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Jake says quickly.

 

“What he said,” says Enoch.

 

Horace eyes Enoch’s thoroughly tousled curls, the vivid flush of Jake’s cheeks, and the state of their poor clothes. Jake’s shirt is halfway unbuttoned and Enoch’s sweater has been rucked up to reveal part of his belly. There really isn’t anything else it could be except what it looks like.

 

“Oh dear,” says Horace again.

 

“Horace,” says Jake. “Um, are you okay?”

 

Horace draws himself up, straightens his shoulders, then says, “You better check if Millard’s about with no clothes again before you make out in public rooms,” and flees.

 

“Are you alright, Horace?” Olive asks with clear concern, when he runs into her at the back door.

 

“Oh dear,” says Horace.

 

She tilts her head and studies him critically. “Did you run into Enoch and Jake?”

 

He makes a strangled noise. She laughs gaily.

 

“Oh, Horace,” she says. “I told you it probably wasn’t a good idea to leave them alone.”

 

“I had a dream of Enoch saying he had something important to talk to Jake about and I thought he needed the privacy!”

 

“Yes, he was going to tell Jake his feelings, which is why I said they shouldn’t be unchaperoned,” says Olive, even though she’s grinning. “Well, at least I can say I tried.”

 

“I didn’t know they were going to be doing unseemly things in public!”

 

“Who was doing what now?” Fiona asks as she troops through the door.

 

“Never you mind,” Horace says crossly.

 

“My eyes!” Millard shrieks from a few rooms away and there’s the distinct sound of furniture falling over.

 

“What was that?” Hugh says, popping up from over Fiona’s shoulder.

 

“Let’s go see,” says Fiona.

 

Olive seizes them both. “I don’t think so,” she says calmly.

 

“Did I hear a crash?” says Emma as she turns up behind Hugh.

 

“No one heard anything,” Horace says firmly. “Nothing happened. Shoo. Go play. Don’t come in until it’s safe.”

 

Emma stares at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

 

“He’s had a bad dream is all,” Olive says cheerfully as she herds all of them back out the door.

 

Horace follows as quickly as he can and resolutely closes the door behind him. He pauses when something thumps against it and then pretends he heard nothing.

 

Serves Millard right, really. Maybe now he’ll keep his bloody clothes on.

 

♦

 

Horace catches the can of pins just as it tips over.

 

“Whoops,” says the tailor. “Quick fingers you got there, boy. Would’ve been right mess if you hadn’t caught that. Thanks.”

 

It’s the same thing he says every day. Horace smiles at him.

 

“Something green today,” Miss Peregrine tells the tailor. “One of my little ones wants a throw blanket to match the one in her dollhouse. Darker colours perhaps?”

 

“I’ll see what I’ve got, m’am, just give me a mo’.”

 

Horace turns, admiring as always the swathes of fabric over various surfaces and rolled up in stacks against the wall. By now he’s memorised the exact layout of the shop but he still finds it a delight. He catches sight of the storefront, through which he can clearly see Enoch and Jake. Both are ostensibly waiting, standing barely a foot apart and chatting amicably. They’re smiling at each other in a way that has nothing to do with the conversation, a way Horace has gotten used to in the past few days. He doesn’t understand it, just like he hadn’t understood Jake and Emma or Olive and Enoch, or even Emma and Abe, but he supposes it’s because he’s too young. They’re happy though, those two unlikely boys, and Horace isn’t about to begrudge that.

 

“Would you like to bring that back with us, Horace?”

 

Horace looks up at Miss Peregrine, who’s looking at him with some amusement. He looks back down at the can of pins he’s still holding.

 

“Oh,” he says, and sets it down. He contemplates it for a moment. “Miss Peregrine,” he starts. “What do you think will happen if I didn’t catch the pins?”

 

“I imagine they’d have scattered all over the floor, and the poor tailor would have sprained his back trying to gather them all, and someone may even possibly stab themselves on one.”

 

Horace turns to her in horror and she laughs.

 

“I’m joking, Horace,” she says. “But yes, I expect it’d create quite the inconvenience. It’s kind of you to spare the nice tailor the trouble.”

 

Horace chews his lip. “It doesn’t really make a difference, though, does it?”

 

“I did say sprained back, possible stabbing and the likes, hadn’t I?”

 

He grimaces. “It wouldn’t be that bad.”

 

“Who knows?” says Miss Peregrine. “Anything can happen, and all things can end up in any number of ways. That’s why your peculiarity is a boon, Horace. It allows you to have a say in that. It allows you to make a difference.”

 

He glances through the storefront again. When he turns back, Miss Peregrine’s eyes are soft.

 

“Do you understand, Horace?” she asks, smiling.

 

Horace looks over at the can and smiles. “I suppose I might,” he says.

 

He can spare the tailor a backache or someone from an accidental prick to the foot. He can help a friend learn something new about himself, and about somebody else. He’s useful in his own way, his own time, and that’s actually pretty good. He’ll take it.

 

 

 

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> This may seem rushed because I wrote it in one go and then was too busy before deadline. I couldn't even edit it properly. I'm so sorry! There were so many things I wanted to write about, so many avenues I wanted to further explore, but I didn't have the tiiiiimeeeeee. /wails
> 
> Welp, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!


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